Wade and the Widow
by Les Pansycakes
Summary: I wanted to try and see what I could do with the Deadpool / Black Widow ship... The chapters are going to be really short and will alternate between Wade and Natasha's POV
1. Intro

I wanted to mess around with the Wade/Widow ship. Its slightly based off of a Twitter RP idea/concept. Big props to MercLife and his writer, Curt, for this interpretation of Wade's mental state ...I've barely started writing this today without any previous planning whatsoever. Just seeing where it takes me.. (Oh and obviously, I don't own Deadpool, Wade Wilson, Natasha, or the Black Widow. All credit goes to Marvel on that one.)

_Wade_

"Whhhhyyyy am I stiiiill aaaaaawwaaake?"

I'm answered by silence. Well, at first I am..

**It's because of us, of course! Forgot about us already have you?**

And there they are. The voices. They're always there. No matter where I go, no matter where I am. Maybe it's because they're inside of me. Inside my head, to be exact. And they never shut up. Its fun sometimes, but not when it's- …what time IS it?…. I lift my head to look at the clock: One thirty-five. I groan as I toss and turn in my already-uncomfortable-to-begin-with bed, my face smothered into a pillow, while I rot all alone in this practically-empty room that might as well be a holding cell. And it's cold. Stupid S.H.I.E.L.D. insisted that I stay here.. And by "insist" I mean that if I was to even try to refuse, they would've thrown me in an actual prison, probably with some hot-headed, second rate supervillian as a cellmate.

Welcome to my life. I'm Wade Wilson, by the way. You may otherwise know me as Deadpool. I know, I know. You're a big fan. But it's not all that great being me. Especially wh-

OH HEY! THE DOORBELL! …wait what? The doorbell? _This place has a doorbell!? _Who could possibly be visiting me here at two in the morning? I trudge over to the door in my boxers (and not even the nice ones, the old ones that should have already been thrown away by now) and there she is.. Na-

**Waaaait a second, we have NICE boxers?!**

Ugh. Yes, /I/ have nice boxers…. Somewhere. Hmm I wonder where I put them… I should look around and- AAGH! See what I mean? They pop up out of absolutely nowhere! Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah..

I look up and she's still standing there. Staring at me with a look that I've gotten used to: curious, but not the _good_ kind of curious, if you get what I'm hinting at (teehee).. She's looking at me like she would if I were an animal. An animal of some species she's never seen before. Some strange, ugly, deformed species of animal that people don't even like glancing at for more than a few seconds at a time. I'm so tired of that look. As if I'm being _observed_. Like they want to poke me with a stick as they stay as far away as physically possible from me. People have been looking at me with that look ever since- ..ever since they-

…..yeah, nevermind. Let's not talk about that right now.

(Or ever.)

_Widow_

I'm fuming right now.

I can't believe Fury woke me up in the dead of night, called me out of my nice warm bed, and for what? To check on his little _pet._ I've heard the stories: Deadpool was the result of an experiment that went horribly wrong. Weapon X was technically a success.. Wade still ended up with regenerating abilities, enhanced physical strength, telepathic immunity, and even an extended lifespan, among other things. But it had left him physically disfigured. He's pretty damn disgusting too from what I hear…

I walk swiftly down the deserted hallway until I reach the one that's his, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. I'm about to knock when I notice a doorbell, so I push that instead. I wait outside the door impatiently, arms crossed, wondering what the _hell_ is taking him so long. I lean against the wall, and I think I can hear him talking -no, _arguing_- with himself. Ha! Guess he really is insane.

The door jerks open and suddenly I'm at a loss for words, the irritable smirk I was wearing just moments ago is wiped clean off my face. A man stands in front of me, wearing only a pair of overly-used boxers and, interestingly enough, a red and black mask that covers his entire head. His impressive stature is strong and built, it would be pleasant to look at if it wasn't for the grotesque, convoluted scars that covered every single inch of his skin. He watches me as my eyes run the entire length of his body, perhaps searching for just one hint of normalcy or familiarity.

"Hi, Natasha." There is a tinge of resentment and bitterness in his voice, though he tries only slightly to conceal it. How does he know my name? It would be so much easier to read him if he wasn't wearing a mask. I almost wish I could see his face. But then again, I don't.

"How do you-"

He cuts me off. "How do I know who you are?" He finishes my question for me as he struts back into the room with a teasing confidence. He elongates the words, annoyingly, like a child attempting to taunt his older sibling. "How would I _not_ know who you are, Natasha Romanov? Or should I say, the Black Widow?" I can practically _hear _the smug expression on his face as he leans towards me. This is going to be a long night.

* * *

So what did you think? Please tell me your thoughts on how it's written, what you think should happen, where you think its heading.. etc etc. I'd really love any feedback you'd care to give!


	2. Wade

_Wade_

Okay so, I know what you're thinking.. Or maybe I have absolutely _no_ idea what you're thinking. Well, anyway, I'd bet a hundr- No wait, I take that back. I'd bet five bucks that you're wondering how I know Natasha. She's the _Black Widow_. C'mon. You've never heard of her? Any other person in my universe would probably say, "Of course you haven't. She's a spy. It's her job to disappear and not exist." But I know better. I know that you're sitting there, on your laptop, or your family computer, or your smartphone, reading this fan fiction that some seventeen-year-old fangirl thought up. So I know that you know exactly who I am and exactly who Natasha Romanov (or Romanoff, whichever you prefer), A.K.A. Natalia Alianova Romanova, A.K.A. the Black Widow, is. Okay, maybe not _exactly_ who we are, but you've at least heard of us. Most likely you've even seen a few movies or played a few video games that we're in, too..

Nobody ever believes me though. They just think I'm crazy. I'm not crazy. Mentally-unstable? Of course. But I'm _not_ crazy. I mean, I'm right about all this comic book stuff, aren't I? ..You're really just reading a story about me right now, aren't you? Every aspect of my life has just been the product of some guy's imagination...

**Hey, idiot. Widow's still staring at you.**

Ohhh yeah. Heh. Forgot I had company over. She's taken a seat on the couch, and she's still staring at me, with a look on her face that is so full of confusion that it's almost... cute. At the same time, she's also very clearly agitated. For the first time ever, I feel somewhat grateful for those annoying voices. (I definitely don't wanna keep her waiting and piss her off anymore than she already is.) "Thanks," I accidentally say out loud.

**No problem, bro.**

"Umm. What?" She makes a face, her expression full of contempt. She yawns after a few minutes, unamused and wanting to go home already.

I fumble over my words, shaking my head and mumbling incoherently, causing her to sigh and roll her eyes. "I'm sorry. I- uhh ...wasn't talking to you..?" _God, Wade. Could you sound any stupider? You're so stupid._

**True dat!**

….Really?

**Sorry.**

Meanwhile, Ms. Romanov is idly tapping her fingers on the couch. When I seem to be finished with my little fit, she looks up at me. "What's up with the mask?" She blinks, waiting for an answer. Did I not mention that I'm wearing my Deadpool mask right now?

"Yeah. I slept with it on," I say, shrugging my shoulders. I'm used to it having it on all the time now. It's pretty much my face since I don't let people see my actual one.

Her eyes wander around the room, analyzing the unimpressive contents. She's trying her hardest to avoid scrutinizing me, though her gaze unintentionally flickers back to me every now and then. Furrowing her brow, she blurts out another question, "You _sleep_ with your mask on?"

"Yes I do." I state simply, too tired and lazy to elaborate. I let myself fall backwards onto the floor in front of her, putting my hands behind my head and crossing my legs. "On a different note, why are you here? I get that S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted to keep tabs on me, but why'd Fury send _you_? Did he run out of less-important monkeys to do his bidding?"

This gets a slight, half-hearted laugh out of her. "Something like that."


	3. Widow

**I'm so sorry I haven't been able to update! I've been extremely busy and also got a little writer's block. I wasn't exactly sure where I was going to go with this and so it just ended up sitting there with no progress being made on it! I think I've made up my mind finally and found some new ways to be able to work on it more frequently. Sorry again! x[**

**(And... I know, I know, it's super short. But I really just wanted to put something up.)**

* * *

_Widow_

Honestly, I don't know why Fury sent me. Maybe he was just trying to help. Help.. get my mind off things. Even if he does it in the most annoying ways possible. But hey, if I'm so upset with Fury, I wouldn't be focusing on things with Clint. I sigh audibly and can feel Deadpool/Wades' eyes shift towards my direction. The mask is throwing me off. It's like a wall between us. I'm somewhat grateful for it though. Not sure if I could handle some guy making googly eyes at me right now. He puts up his walls, I put up mine.

Though, I do feel as if I've been a bit harsh. It's not _his_ fault that Fury sent me here. It's not his fault that he's ugly as heck. It's not his fault that he's insane.

Still, I can't help but wanting to tell everything and everyone to fuck off. Things between Clint and I have been rather difficult recently. Since what happened with Loki, he's been distant and more irritable than ever. He's usually so patient and open (with me at least). I know the whole thing is still wearing down on him, despite the fact that its been a few months. He hasn't told me yet, but he's been having nightmares. I wake up in the middle of the night to his screaming. I pretend to still be asleep but I can hear him panting and feel him getting out of the bed. Our relationship is extremely strained at the moment, which is sad because... Well, we got engaged. Just before all that stuff with the Avengers Initiative. Yeah, so I now have no idea where this leaves us at all. We hadn't even been able to tell anybody yet, with the exception of Fury (and that was only because we had to fill out certain paperwork, due to the fact that Clint and I are both S.H.E.I.L.D. agents).

I find my thoughts and anxieties abruptly interupted when Deadpool whips out his katanas and starts swinging them all around the room at invisible entities.

"THE NINJAS! YOU DON'T SEE THEM?!" He looks over at me and scoffs, "Go figure."

Indignantly, I rise from my seat and watch Mr. Wilson attack his non-existent opponents. His form is perfect, and his agility incredible. Just a shame it's being wasted on _this_. If I've learned anything from reading his file and listening to my fellow agents' stories, any attempts of mine to tell him to stop this bout would be unfruitful and only anger him. Instead, I indulge his insanity, side-stepping closer and asking, "Do you want me to help?" I draw my weapon, aiming at absolutely nothing.

"No, no, nooooo!" Deadpool whines, shooing me away. "Just- I'll take care of it!"

I shoot at the wall rebelliously. "I don't take orders from you."

"Nice shot."

"Wait! I got one?" I sound a little too suprised (and maybe a tad excited). Composing myself, I say cooly, "I mean, of course I got one. Pfft."

He looks at me, laughs, and continues slashing away at the imaginary ninjas.


End file.
